Angel of Mercy & Standoff at Mustang Ridge

by Heather Graham

  Wendy prepared stuffed Cornish game hens for dinner, and despite the fact that Brad kept pulling her out to the living room to dance to some old treasure that he had found, she managed to put the meal together rather well. Baby made an appearance at the door soon after. After consuming a hefty slab of raw beef, the panther settled down at the foot of the couch.

  Later on, Brad led Baby back outside. He didn’t want that much company tonight.

  When Wendy locked up for the night, Brad was waiting for her in the darkened hallway. He kissed her there, lifted her into his arms and carried her off to bed. They made love again, before drifting into a deep and peaceful sleep.

  The next morning, when Wendy awoke, Brad was no longer with her. Worriedly, she jumped out of bed, wrapped the sheets around herself and hurried down the hallway. Finding the house empty, she opened the front door and breathed a sigh of relief. He was there. Baby had come prowling home. Brad was petting the panther’s head as he stared out over the swampland, watching as morning burst upon it.

  The sun was radiant, glittering in diamonds upon the water. The sound of silence was awesome, until some distant gator let out a grunt—very much like that of a pig, Wendy had always thought—and a mockingbird let out a screeching call.

  He was wearing a pair of Leif’s faded jeans, along with a Seminole cotton shirt, richly colored in deep blues and crimsons. Mary Hawk had made it for her grandson, as a Christmas present one year. Wendy bit her lower lip, remembering how tenderly Leif had thanked his grandmother. Leif had always shown Willie and Mary deep devotion and respect. That was one of the things that had always made her love her life here, despite the fact that her in-laws were so near. The members of the Hawk family cared for one another. They knew an ancient courtesy and a tender wisdom.

  But Brad shared some of those qualities. She had been in a flying fury the other night when she had found him—she had been so worried by then. And it had taken her a while to realize that Willie—that sly old fox!—had been determined to find Brad, introduce himself in his unique way and make his own assessment.

  And it seemed that Willie had judged Brad well. Brad had been a natural in Willie’s small village. Willie was an old man who liked the old way of life, and many of the younger people, too, were now trying to maintain tribal traditions. Brad hadn’t made judgments. He had fitted right in.

  A sledgehammer suddenly seemed to slam against her heart as she watched him. She truly admired Brad McKenna. It was difficult to believe that it had not quite been a week since she had met him. And yet it was all too easy to remember that first night, to remember removing his muddy clothing and thinking with inner tremors that he was really beautifully built, powerfully male. She had admired him then; there was no denying the way she’d been drawn to him. Perhaps her loneliness had contributed to the attraction. But since then she had discovered so much more to respect, so very much to like.

  And he was going to leave. He’d warned her not to care too deeply; he’d warned her that he would never marry.

  And she had assured him, and herself, that it didn’t matter.

  But it did, now. It mattered so much.

  It was easy to live with him, easy to adjust to the extra damp towel in the bathroom, his coffee cup in the sink. It was easy to share things with him—meals and laughter and conversation—and most of all, it was easy to sleep beside him, held tight in his arms.

  Don’t fall in love...

  I’m not in love, Wendy assured herself. As an independent woman, she had opted for this. When he walked away, she’d hold her head high.

  And it would be all for the best, wouldn’t it? she demanded silently to herself. If she had ever thought that he could stay, she had been living in a fantasy.

  Suddenly she found it difficult to breathe. Horrid images flooded her mind as she remembered the violence that had made her a widow. Leif had stumbled upon that violence. Brad made a living at it.

  If she and Brad were to fall helplessly in love, it would still be a dead-end relationship. She wouldn’t be able to bear it. Every morning when he left for work, her palms would sweat and then she’d begin to tremble...

  Brad turned around suddenly, as if he sensed her thoughts. She wanted to raise a hand in cheery greeting; she wanted to smile. She couldn’t. Something in his somber gaze warned her that he had been having similar thoughts. Those thoughts were causing harsh lines to become ingrained upon his features. In silence, she merely held the sheet closer to her as a soft breeze whispered against her flesh. Then she returned to the house.

  When she had showered and dressed, Brad was in the kitchen. He had made coffee, scrambled eggs and toast. Solemnly, he sipped his coffee.

  “Thank you, that looks delicious,” Wendy said. She slid onto a stool and tried to take a bite of the eggs. Unfortunately they stuck in her throat. She set her fork down and swallowed some orange juice.

  “I need to go back to the gas station and make a phone call,” he said.

  She put her fork down. “I’ll take you in. I need my car anyway. I want to drive into the city and buy some groceries and things.” She stood and picked up her plate to take into the kitchen. She couldn’t even pretend to eat.

  Brad leaned across the table and caught her wrist. She paused, looking down at him. “Wendy, I don’t think I should stay any longer.”

  She forced herself to shrug, pulling at her wrist. “Whatever you think.”

  “Wendy—”

  “Brad, do whatever you think is best.”

  He stood in annoyance, taking the plate from her hands and setting it on the counter. His eyes burned a passionate gold, and his face was strained and tense. “Don’t. Don’t do that to you, or to me.”

  “Don’t do what?” she demanded, trying to retain the coolness of her first words. She wanted to remain aloof and above it all.

  “Don’t pretend that it doesn’t matter!” He was nearly shouting. She couldn’t quite meet his gaze, but she managed to speak with extreme impatience. “Pretend what, McKenna? You’re the one who made the big deal out of this. ‘Let’s get to know one another.’ You’re the one—”

  “Wendy, I care about you, you little idiot. You just weren’t made for one-night stands—”

  “Why not, if I so chose? Damn you, I made a decision.” Both their tempers were rising. Although Wendy was trying to hide her emotions, they spilled from her. Anger seemed the only way to combat them. She so desperately wanted to hold on to her pretense of sophisticated distance. But sarcasm entered her voice, a sharp, sharp edge that rang out like a call of battle.

  “I made a decision, Brad!” she repeated. “That first night. Yeah, it’s been a while. I took one look and decided, an attractive guy. Just what I need—a little uncomplicated sex. When you warned me not to care too much, it seemed so perfect. A mature, adult relationship...a consenting man, a consenting woman—”

  “Wendy, stop it! We both know—”

  “We don’t know anything! What is your problem? If you want to leave—leave! There’s nothing keeping you here! You are the last person I want as a permanent fixture in my life. My God, you kill people for a living—”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Your partner was just killed, for God’s sake!”

  “Yes! And planes crash, and trucks kill people crossing the road.”

  “But you ask for it!”

  “Wendy, other than target practice, I think I’ve actually fired my gun three times in almost ten years.”

  She backed away from him, her hands on her hips. “Why are you trying to convince me—”

  “You’re making it sound like I’m some kind of contract killer!” Two steps brought him back to her. He gripped her shoulders, staring furiously down at her. “I try to keep crack off the streets, Wendy, that’s what I do. I try to keep drugs from high-school kids. And I
try even harder to keep them out of the grade schools. Ever see a twenty-year-old dead on a cocaine mix? Or a kid in junior high with needle tracks on his arm? It doesn’t do any good to arrest that poor kid—you can only pray that he kicks the habit. You have to get guys like Michaelson. The guys who orchestrate the big deals—and make big bucks on the drugs.”

  The heat that emanated between them seemed to crackle like dry lightning. “Fine, Brad. You go after the Michaelsons in the world, and quit worrying about me! I’ve gotten what I wanted from you—”

  “What?”

  His tone was so sharp that she paused for the fraction of a moment. She was trembling, rocked by fury and fear. The truth had descended upon her like a falling weight. She was falling in love; she had fallen in love. But she could never use that to hold on to Brad.

  “I said, I’ve gotten what I wanted—”

  “Sex?”

  “That’s right.”

  He stared at her incredulously. “Just sex?” His temper was roiling and boiling, but it didn’t change the way he felt about her. He still wanted her. He had desired her when she laughed, and when she stared at him with tender, sultry eyes. And now, despite the way she lifted her chin and scowled at him with cool, complete disdain, he still wanted her.

  Her cool facade was a hoax. He could swear that it was all a lie. Brad wanted to rant and rave; she could evoke such extreme reactions in him! But he didn’t. Even while a hot, soaring pulse took hold of him, he forced himself to smile lazily. He wanted so much from her, and he was desperately afraid that this fantasy would end. Couldn’t he touch her soul? Couldn’t he reach her heart? He had to find out.

  “Just sex, huh? Is that it, Wendy? You took one look at me and decided that I’d do for a fling?”

  Something in his tone warned her. “Brad—”

  Fiercely, he pulled her into his arms. His kiss was sweet and savage; his hands moved in torment.

  Although she wanted to lash out at him, she was losing the desire to fight. His lips nearly bruised hers; his tongue ravaged her mouth. His body was white-hot, fevered. The anger, the tempest, the sudden blinding need exploded from him and filled her. A surge of urgent longing seized her, spiraling into her loins. She knew she should twist away from his kiss, but she could not. Instead, she pressed more closely to him. And with the desperate, lingering assault of each kiss, the idea of protest faded from her mind. Instinctively, her fingers curled into his hair. They played over his neck and raked his back. She felt his hands beneath her shirt, freeing her breasts from her bra, stroking them.

  He unsnapped her jeans, then slid his fingers beneath the waistband, searching for her most sensitive area. She wrenched his shirt from his pants, touching his bare back, moaning softly.

  Somehow, together, they lowered themselves to the floor. For a moment she was a tangle of clothing, and then she was naked. She prayed that he would come to her swiftly, that he would assuage the yearning, the desperate longing.

  He did not. With a feverish pitch, Brad made love to her more thoroughly than he ever had before. She whispered to him, pleading and crying out...begging him. But still he explored her, finding new erogenous zones, leaving no sweet inch of bare and vulnerable flesh unaware of his touch, of his kiss.

  When he came to her at last, it was instantly explosive, but he did not let it lie at that. He moved while she lay limp, until he roused her again. Then her cry mingled upon the air with his, as they soared above the earth.

  Their descent was slow and leisurely. Time had no meaning for Wendy when she was locked in Brad’s warm embrace.

  “Wendy, I know it’s—”

  He broke off, and they both jumped at the sound of a tapping against the door.

  “Dammit!” Brad swore, casting her a quick, angry glance as he moved to the window. “I am slipping to hell since I’ve met you!”

  “Wendy? Brad? Anyone home?”

  Although Brad relaxed at the sound of Eric’s voice, Wendy was overcome by a sudden panic. She knew that Eric liked Brad. But still, a terrible feeling of guilt swept over her, dark and poignant. Like a high-school girl caught necking in the car, she scrambled for her clothing.

  Brad watched as she stumbled quickly into her clothes. She was such an enigma to him, this sultry, silver-eyed angel. After all, she had claimed that she wanted sex only. She had hurt him with her callous words. But what else could she have said to him? I understand, please do go, we are getting too involved. Yes, you’re right, please do get out of my life before I fall irrevocably in love with you.

  “Would you please get dressed!” Wendy whispered hoarsely.

  He looked at her as if he were weighing her words for a moment, then he shook his head and pulled on his jeans. Wendy had barely tucked her blouse into her jeans before he smiled with sarcastic sweetness and strode over to open the door. His shirt hung open, and his feet were bare.

  “Hi, Eric,” he said, opening the door.

  Eric hesitated in the doorway, looking from Brad to Wendy. Eric’s emotions were always almost impossible to read. Wendy unwittingly put a hand to her hair, trying to smooth back the wild disarray. Eric glanced at Brad. “Bad timing. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous—” Wendy began.

  “The timing is just fine,” Brad interrupted her. “In fact, it’s good to see you. We were heading off to the garage to use the phone in a few minutes. Come on in.”

  Sensing the tension, Eric offered Wendy a curious frown. She smiled at him as innocently as she could. “Want some coffee, Eric? Ice tea, a beer?”

  “I’ll have some coffee, thanks.”

  Eric noticed their breakfast plates, barely touched.

  Wendy was relieved that he made no comment, but accepted a cup of coffee and turned to Brad. “Willie enjoyed taking off with you, you know. He did give Wendy quite a scare, but he enjoyed having you so much that it was worth it, I think.”

  Brad told Eric that he had enjoyed meeting his family. When the two men moved into the living room Wendy exhaled, relieved. She picked up the breakfast plates and mournfully realized that they seemed to have a serious problem with breakfast. No matter who made it for whom, the meal had a tendency of winding up in the garbage.

  What are we going to do? she wondered in a fleeting panic. Then she realized that she had no choice. Their future was in Brad’s hands. Whenever he left, it was over.

  A glance over the counter told her that the men were still engrossed in a discussion. Retreating to the bathroom, she brushed out her hair and splashed cool water over her face. As she stared at the reflection of her own wide, silver-gray eyes, she was certain that they wore a telltale glaze, the glow of a woman in love.

  “Wendy!”

  Brad’s voice came to her like a roar. She was sure Baby had never sounded more menacing. The sound of it irritated her, and she gritted her teeth.

  When she squared her shoulders and strode out to the living room, her hands on her hips and her brows arched in an irate query, she discovered that Eric was staring at her the same way Brad was—as if she were a child.

  “What?” she snapped. They exchanged glances with one another.

  “Eric said that he gave you a message for me. About strangers in the swamp—possibly here to hunt me down.”

  She hesitated, feeling mortified that she could have forgotten such an important warning. But first, she had come home to find him missing. Then they had spent the evening in the village with Willie and Mary and the family, and then when they had come back...

  She shook her head. “I—I forgot.”

  “You what?” Brad said, his eyes narrowing.

  “Wendy, it was important,” Eric said mildly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry!” Brad looked as if he were about to go through the roof. He spun around, hands on his hips, his head
lowered, as he fought to control his temper.

  But she didn’t think that he was so angry about the omission. Even a minor problem would test the limits of his temper right now. Because nothing had been settled between them, nothing at all.

  He turned around again, looking at Eric. “You think they’ve got seaplanes coming in to the swamp? Near here?”

  Eric nodded.

  Brad shook his head. “That’s why we were here, trying to infiltrate his organization. We knew he was securing his stuff out of Colombia, but we could never get a fix on the checkpoints. I knew that he was up to something out here. We were trying to trap him...that’s when I wound up out here.” He glanced Wendy’s way. His eyes were dark, unreadable. His gaze lingered upon her, then he returned his attention to Eric. “But I don’t understand how our agents haven’t caught him if he’s still operating here.”

  Eric interrupted him with a soft laugh. “Brad, you’re not considering the size of the swamp. The grasslands go on forever. There are endless miles of marshes, deep canals and high, dry hammocks with pine trees. There are also lakes, large lakes, with plenty of room for a small seaplane bearing millions of dollars worth of white gold to land.”

  “So Michaelson’s got a drop spot near here,” Brad said, calculating. “I’ve got to find it.” Tension constricted his muscles as he studied Eric appraisingly.

  “Oh, no!” Wendy swore suddenly. “McKenna, you royal son of a bitch! You haven’t the sense to hide out from a man who has one purpose in life besides the pursuit of money—killing you! And if you think that you’re going to take my brother-in-law—”

  “Wendy!” Eric stopped her furiously.

  “No!” Tears stung her eyes. “You idiots! Eric, it would kill your grandfather if something were to happen to you! And, Brad, damn you, I know your boss didn’t hire you to act stupid! To foolishly get yourself killed—”

  “Wendy, stop it!” Eric insisted. He reached for her, but she twisted away. “Wendy, I prowled the jungles of Asia. If I’d been killed, Grandfather would have understood.”